


Mirage

by xancrish



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF!Stiles, Bond Mates, Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Paranormal Romance, Past Lives, Teenage Drama, Updates Will Be Slow, feel good fic, soul mates, un-beta'd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-19 00:03:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2366867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xancrish/pseuds/xancrish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott has a huge crush on his friend's brother, who's like six years older than him. It might be a bit on the unrequited side but it's not like he can help it, so shut up. </p><p>Or where there might be a lot more going on than your usual teenager unrequited crush drama. Stuff like memories of past lives, bursts of supernatural abilities, with soulmates coming together kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written to keep myself entertained during my study holidays. Updates will be slow and short. Input and requests are welcome.

 

It wasn’t that Scott was masochistic, mind you. He let himself wallow in self-pity,all day, yes. Dressed carelessly, forgot to turn in his homework, didn’t call his mom during her break, and ignored all of Stiles’s text messages or the past two days. None of that meant he wanted to be unhappy, though.

Nope. In fact he’d very much like it, if he could go back to that time when he wasn’t pining over Isaac’s elder brother, thank you very much. He wanted to go back to being his normal, happy self.

He sighed for the fifty-eight time that day, and it was only eight in the morning. Stiles beside him, gave him a long accusing glower. As if Scott acting out of it was a crime on his person.

"If you only tell me who it is, we can sort it out like-" Stiles snapped his finger in Scott’s face, “ _this_.”

Scott gave his friend a sideways glance and snorted. “Yeah, like how you sorted out things with Lydia?”

"Hey, hey, now Lydia is a special case," said Stiles, gesticulating wildly, “Her continued denial of my very existence is part of her charm, you know. That’s the Lydia I know and love.”

Scott looked toward the ceiling, then at his friend. “Can we not?”

"Can we not what, Scotty?"

"Have this conversation?" said Scott, his eyebrows bunching together in frustration. “Look, I have told you its not gonna work out, like ever. Its just a stupid crush -“

"Then why don’t you just TELL me who it is!" whined Stiles, grabbing Scott’s backpack and stopping him from resorting to his elusive tactics of late. “If its no big deal, why can’t you tell me? I know all your dirty secrets! What can be worse than you wearing a -“

Scott clamped his best friend’s mouth shut before he could reveal the entire hallway of his underwear habits.

"I can’t tell you," said Scott, glaring at his friend. Then abruptly, realising what he was about to say, he withdrew away from Stiles and looked down. “Because it’s too impossible.”

Stiles gave a surprised jerk. ”Are you in, like, pseudo-denial?”

"Um," said Scott, looking up and raising his brows, "maybe?"

Stiles’s jaw dropped and he looked like he was having trouble breathing.

“So, let me get this right,” he said, “Even though you know you like this guy, whom, just for the record, you have been pining over for the better part of this year, and not denying it, but not doing anything about it either, and just content being in this miserable limbo - you accept all this, and yet, telling another person, like say, your BEST friend, would somehow make it more real? Is that what is going on in that funny brain of yours?”

"Yes?" said Scott, stepping away from his friend, and watching his expression, wearily. Stiles was NOT pleased.

"Are you  _kidding_  me?” said Stiles, seething.

"What?" said Scott confused.

Stiles gave him a withering glare and snatched his elbow and dragged him through the hallway. When they had reached a more secure corner, away from interested ears, Stiles turned towards his friend, hand on hips.

"Scott, you listen to me very carefully, okay? said Stiles, "You are gonna tell me who exactly it is that you are so pathetically mooning over. You know why you are going to tell me, Scott? Because Stiles is your fix-it guy. Who is Stiles, Scott? Your  _fix-it_. I’m gonna count to five and you are gonna tell me who this person is. That’s the easy way. I won’t recommend the hardway. A lot more people than just me and you, can end up in the know and it won’t be easy for you to hold onto your pseudo-denial bubble. So here’s your five.”

Scott shook his head vehemently. 

"One."

Scott fidgeted with his backpack.

"Two."

"Stiles, I’m not telling you," said Scott, defiantly, "stop counting!"

"Three."

"Four, five," said Scott, "There, I’m not telling you!" He was NOT going to fall for Stiles threats. There was no way he could tell Stiles he liked a guy who was six years older than him, grew a goddamn beard and dressed like a biker.

"Four."

"I’m not telling, I’m not telling!" Scott stomped his foot for added effect. He was a pug that wanted to date a wolf. Even in his head, it sounded rather pitiable. He couldn’t admit it out loud.

Stiles threats were empty and harmless. Stiles couldn’t hurt a fly. He wasn’t the kind of friend who would reveal Scott’s secrets to the entire high school and possibly the whole town just to get his way. Scott wasn’t scared of his best friend. His face was’t turning blue. He didn’t look like he had a gun pointed to his head.

"Fi-

"Its Derek!" said Scott, and his voice definitely did not squeak "Derek  
Hale!”

Of all the things Scott had expected Stiles to do - punch him, tease him, laugh at him, even threaten to mime him for his offensive taste in men - a simple “Oh,  _him_ ,” was definitely not one he was expecting. 

"What, you knew already?" said Scott. He didn’t understand why he was disappointed with Stiles’ reaction, but he was. 

"Well," said Stiles, shrugging, "I knew it wasn’t anyone from school. I’d have known. You aren’t exactly an expert at keeping your emoitons off your face. So it had to be someone you see quite often, going by your psm-ing scale, but again, not in school. So if we leave out Dad and your mom, it had to Parish, your boss, Liam’s dad, Mr. Argent, or Derek. I was hoping it would be Parish. Or at the very least, Liam’s dad. Tough luck."

Stiles kicked an imaginary stone to show his disapproval. 

"Why is it so bad that it is Derek?" said Scott, scrunching his face in annoyance. "I know its kinda impossible and all -"

"No, Scott," said Stiles, wagging his pointer finger at him, "Derek is a bad choice, because Derek is  _evil._  Like 98.56% evil.” Stiles sighed dramatically, and pinched the place between his brows. “You were right. I didn’t need to know it was  _Derek._ Now I’d be forced to help you get together with that jerkoff, and that had never been on my agenda.”

Scott rolled his eyes, exasperatedly. Yeah, right, as if Stiles on board meant, Scott winning. 

"May be, you should try dating me, instead. Do you wanna kiss me and check for any unforeseen, but oddly satisfying sparks?"

"Stiles."

"Hey, worth a shot," said Stiles, raising his hands in defense. 

Scott decided it was time to head for class. He had chemistry and Stiles had math. He was about to turn the corner towards his class and away from Stiles, when his best friend shoved something into his pocket. 

Scott knowing full well what it could possibly be, didn’t dare look at it. 

When he did, half an hour later, his hands tremblled, and he felt like a dizzy spell had hit him. He memorized it, like it were the key to open all his denied happiness. 

Derek’s number.


	2. Chapter 2

The line went through and Scott stopped breathing. He jerked his phone away from his ear and stared at it with wide-eyes.

 _No, no, no!_  He cut the call before it could be picked. 

"What am I thinking?" Scott threw his phone on the bed and paced the room with long, quick strides. "What would I say? ‘Hey, Derek, you wanna hang out?’ or ‘Hey, Derek, guess what I got your number. I’m not some creepy kid stalking you or anything, I’m just friends with your brother and you might have seen me couple of times and I have this huge crush on you - do you wanna hang out?’ Stupid,  _stupid!_  What does having his number change? It changes nothing!”

Scott hit his bed with his foot and yowled in pain when it hurt. 

"Stupd Stiles!" cursed Scott, just for the sake of it. If Stiles hadn’t given him the number, he wouldn’t have spent the entire day fiddling with his phone. He had barely missed getting a detention when Mr. Yukimura had found him typing on his phone furiously, only to erase it, hen type again, then erase again and on and on it went. The fact that, co-incedently there had been no signal in the room had worked in his favor. Barely. Scott now, only had to write a ten-page special report on the Great Depression. 

And, now, he was loosing his mind over the temptation that had been presented to him: Derek’s number.. Only if he actually  _did_ call, there was no way the conversation would not end embarassingly for him. Or worse, with a limb or two missing. Derek wasn’t the town’s proclaimed “bad boy” for no reason. 

Oh, why did he have to go and fall for Derek of all people? Logically he shouldn’t feel anything but “fear” and “extreme discomfort” when in the presence of that intimidating man. Piercing green eyes that was fixed in a perpetual glare, waging war with the world silently, a rigid mouth set in scowl, showing distaste for life in genereal, and thick eyebrows that were alway frowning, brooding, and pushing away people from him - not exactly what Scott would want to find in an ‘atrractive’ person, but that’s why Scott believes that his senses are a little addled. The more scarier Derek was supposed to be, the more desirable Scott found him. 

He was startled out of his musing when his phone went off. He froze in horror as his eyes feel on his screen and found the ’ **Derek <3<3<3**'on it. Blood drained from his face as he shook his head, willing the phone to die and stay quiet. But it adamantly kept ringing. 

Derek must have seen the missed call. Derek was calling back. Derek was calling Scott. Scott had  _Derek_ on the phone!

His knees wobbled and he almost fell on his bed as he reached for his phone. His mouth became dry, and his heartbeat raced as he put the phone to his ear. 

What was he going to say?  _What was he gonig to say?_ They had met last weekend when Scott had hung out with Isaac after lacrosse practice. Derek had made a thirty-six second appearance from his bedroom upstairs, wearing a tight sleveless tee, that clignded to his chest and showed of all his pec. He got something from the pantry, gave Scott a curious look on the way back, and disappeared. The last they had spoken to each other was when Derek brought in a injured pup to Deaton’s clinic, and stiffly told Scott what had happened. An accident on the road. That was last month. 

"Hello," said Scott, wiling saliva into his mouth and swallowing hard. 

"Scott?" came a deep masculine voice, which was distinctively………not Derek’s. 

Scott noisely breathed out of his mouth. ”Isaac?” 

"Yeah," came the drawling voice of the tall teenager Scott had only befriended last summer. "You called my brother," he said, matter-of-factly. 

Scott felt heat rush to his cheeks. He hadn’t even talked to Derek, and he was already embarassed. 

"Ugh" said Scott, frowning, "Why did you call back? Did he..Derek ask you to?"

"He’s out and I saw your number. Got curious," said Isaac, his voice chill and relaxed, as if this sort of thing happned all the time. "Did you want something from him?"

"Well- I was just-" 

Before Scott could finish cooking up an excuse, there was a strange yelp on the otherside and some muffled yelling and some shuffling noise after that. 

"Who is this?" came the voice Scott could recognize anywhere. It sent a thrill down his spine and Scott found that his tongue was not functionable, anymore. "Hello?"

"Ismescumcguh," said Scott. 

"Sorry who?"

"Scott Mccall," said Scott, slowly, gripping his phone tightly. He was sure he was gonna break it soon. 

"Scott?" said Derek, surprise clear in his voice. 

Scott’s heart jumped hearing his name from the older man’s mouth. He had said  _Scott_ , not ‘McCall’. Scott wanted to pump his fist in the air and giggle like crazy. He resisted from doing either of those. 

"Did you want something?"

"I’m throwing a party," said Scott. He balked right after. What?  He flopped on his bed, unable to keep his mouth from running on its own. “This Friday.”

There was a pause on the other side of the connection. Scott could hear Derek breathing. It wasn’t weird at all. In fact, Scott could imagine Derek being beside him, leaning close, hot puffs of air rushing against Scott’s ears, making him feel warm all over. Scott’s lips trembled, and he bit his lip, stopping himself from making any noise that he would deeply regret. 

"This has something to do with me?" came Derek’s voice. Scott paused to decided if it sounded irritated or not. He couldn’t tell. 

"Yeah, its in your loft," said Scott, without thinking. But once it left his  he couldn’t exactly take it back. "I mean, if you don’t mind."

Again, there was a pause. Scott was starting to wonder if Derek was a little slow. Or maybe, Scott was behaving even more weirder than he thought he was. 

"Are you inviting me to this party?"  The voice  _was_ irritated this time. Scott wanted to bury his head in a pile of pillows. ”Or are you politely asking me to step out so that you can have your party?”

"What? No, of course not!" Scott felt like he could himself over the head, "You can come! What am I saying, its your place! I mean - er…you can stay if you like. It’s all teenagers though. I mean - it’s not -"

"Scott," said Derek, effectively putting a stop to the teen’s rambling, and  _again_  Scott couldn’t help but tremble a little at hearing his name. 

"Okay," said Scott, "So, this friday?"

"Fine." said Derek. 

There  was a click. Derek was gone. 

_What have I done?_

Scott wanted to kill Stiles.


	3. Chapter 3

To say that Scott was disappointed would have been an understatement.

The party was a huge success, of course. No qualms, there.

When the evening began, Scott in his tight black jeans, a white v-neck, and a camouflage jacket, with hair carefully styled with gel, could hardly contain his excitement. He had felt so pumped at the prospect of meeting Derek and spending the evening with him. By the time there were enough people in the loft to call it a ‘crowd’, he was practically bouncing about the room, pulling Stiles along everywhere he went, talking to everyone in rushed gushes, giggling madly at the silliest of jokes, dropping drinks in the name of serving them, trying to show his moves and toppling a couple of seniors in the process and almost breaking their noses. Someone, it could have been Danny, but Scott wasn’t sure, had the insane idea to introduce glow-sticks to the crowd and suddenly all lights went off and everybody seemed to be grinding in the dark with only neon sticks and body-paint to go by.

The evening  _had_  begin with a lot of promise to it.

But as Scott felt his body tire from a hour or so of dancing, and yelling constantly at the top of his voice, what started as a small nagging sound at the back of his mind, was by then ramming against his skull – a steady mantra of  _Derek,Derek,DerekDerekDerekDerekDerek. Where was Derek?_

He wanted to see him. Spend time with him. Talk to him. At least,  _see_ him. Up close, and personal. Not the random glimpses he got when he popped in at the loft with Isaac, or when he would find him down the road, talking to some stranger. He wants to  _see_ Derek. Have him sit next to him, holding a cup of beer, and loosening up. Was that too much to hope for? Where was Derek?

It struck twelve and still, there was no sign of the man.

He started struggling to keep his smiles real and moves, enthusiastic, but as more time passed, the harder it got.

He hadn’t seen Derek since a week. He could close his eyes, and picture him still, but the contours of his face were blurring. He felt like he  _needed_ to see Derek. Then a strange thought stuck him: what if he never saw Derek again? And, what if he forgot what Derek looked like? You know, like how you forget how your cousin looks whe you don’t see them too often. That made him stop midway in his dance step, and exit the sweating crowd.

The next few hours found him sitting by the wall, near the pantry, holding a near empty cup of soda and staring at it like it held all the world’s secrets.

Isaac was the first to find him and boy, did he try to persuade Scott to get back on the floor. He even threatened him with a humiliating lap dance if Scott did not get up right that instant. Scott prevailed his attacks, stubbornly, and miserably clung to his desire to mope, alone. Stiles had somehow found a partner in a wild girl. Scott had found them kissing on at least three occasions, in different spots in the room, and on another night and another place, Scott would have been jumping on chairs to holler cat-calls at his friend. But that evening, Scott was just glad Stiles hadn’t noticed his sore mood. Allison did though, and she tried to hide it under a casual offer to dance. He refused. Lydia found him while trying to get another fill of whatever she was drinking. She looked at him accusingly, but didn’t say anything.

Then the clock struck three, and there were only five people left. Isaac walked up to him, without ceremony, threw a arm under his own, and hauled him up like he were a sack of cotton. Scott knew Isaac was strong, having been on the team with him, but he hadn’t know he was  _this_ strong. Scott let himself get pulled, silently anyway, feeling as miserable as he was.

“Scott, I know you like my brother,” said Isaac, his face smirking, dragging Scott to the couch in the living room, and shoving him onto it, “but you don’t have to be so obvious about it.”

Scott who had been slumping and looking morosely at the ground, jerked in surprise. 

The last of the guests left, and it was just Scott and Isaac. Stiles had left, too. Scott vaguely remembered giving Stiles, and that brunette girl he had been flirting with the whole evening, a thumbs up. Did that mean Stiles left with a girl? From a party? Ditching Scott?

Scott would have felt wretched at this discovery, had he not other things to worry about then. Like, the fixed gaze of the tall blond before him. Isaac stood, waiting and his eyes looked at him like he was seeing him for the first time. To Scott, it felt like Isaac was assessing his every reaction, as if he were a new specimen that he was trying to dissect.

“I-I-uh,” said Scott, looking away as he felt heat spread his face. He wanted to deny it. It felt shameful to admit he liked someone he would possibly never have a chance with. Especially to the said someone’s own brother. But, Scott realized, after how he had behaved tonight and the other day, and all those days before when Scott had been in Derek’s presence, only an idiot wouldn’t connect the dots. Isaac was right. He was  _too_ obvious.

Scott’s eyes found a used glow-stick to glare at. They were everywhere. The whole place was swamped with plastics, and paper and empty paint cans and confetti.

“Don’t tell him,” said Scott, finally, his voice hoarse.

“Now, why would I do that?” said Isaac, his voice seemingly innocent, leaning in, a knee between Scott’s spread legs, and hands on either side of Scott’s shoulders. 

“Isaac?” said Scott, warily, not liking Isaac’s tone. It was times like this Scott wished his friend wasn’t so damn playful about everything. The thought of Derek finding out from Isaac, that he had an itty-bitty-crush on him (likely, how Isaac would put it), was nothing short of humiliating to Scott’s mind.

Isaac leaned in some more, and Scott was starting to feel uncomfortable. The other didn’t seem to notice it though. He closed in on Scott and, dropped his head towards his right shoulder. Scott could see the white expanse of skin on the boy’s now exposed shoulder blade. Scott felt himself grow hot with embarrassment, and his hands gripped his knee in a strong clench.

“I-Isaac?”

“I won’t tell,” said Isaac, his voice a low rasp, warm air puffing against Scott’s ear, “if you kiss me.”

Scott found himself struggling to breathe right. That was not good. He had thought his asthma attacks were in the past. But the way things were going, he was going to have one then.

It was right at that  _very_ instant that the loft’s heavy door was thrown open.

Both the teenagers froze where they were, slowly turning to look at the dark haired man who stood in the entrance.

To anyone who was looking at the pair from the doorway, it would look like Isaac was nuzzling his head against Scott’s neck. It would look like two teenagers, sharing an intimate embrace, possibly in the beginning stages of what was going to become something more intimate, in the until now, very empty flat.

And, it was Derek at the door.

Scott felt the blood drain from his face.


	4. Chapter 4

Scott shoved his hands against Isaac’s chest and pushed.

The taller boy’s legs caught in his own, and Scott found himself being pulled along when Isaac fell smack on the floor. Scott struggled for longer than he wished to, grappling to get away from Isaac and then, only to fall back against the couch. Growing hotter by the second, he stood up, dusting away the paper waste that had clung to his jean. He didn’t bother giving Isaac a hand.

“Sorry, I interrupted,” said Derek, his voice calm as he stepped inside. His face told a different tale. His eyebrows were drawn together, bunching above eyes that were piercing holes into Scott’s chest. And, of course, there was his trademark scowl. Only, they seemed to be far more fiercer now.

A small thought that Derek was jealous swept past Scott’s mind, but he immediately dismissed it. It just wasn’t possible. It didn’t fit with what Scott knew about the man. So the only other explanation was that he was irritated, tired, and had possibly not expected to find his little brother cuddling another boy, intimately, in their living room. A very natural response for an older sibling– anger.

Scott wanted to swear loudly and put his fist through a couple of walls in frustration. He had saved this entire night for Derek, had been waiting for this evening to happen all week, and look how it turned out. Isaac for his part was smirking and giving his brother a steady look, as if he were daring him to do something about the predicament. Scott wanted to punch the smug bastard. What had he even been thinking? Trying to feel up Scott like that. He knew he had no chance with Derek. Not like that, anyway. But that didn’t mean he wanted Derek to get the wrong impression that he was seeing someone. Someone he happened to be his brother!

Scott could have explained the situation to Derek. But he knew what that would have looked like. So sighing in defeat, and having had enough of the night, he decided it was time to leave. It didn’t seem like Derek was interested in a conversation, anyway. That’s all he had wanted: to talk to Derek. But, oh well.

Scott walked up to the lone chair against the wall and picked up his jacket. The brothers watched him, and Scott crushed the urge to look at Derek one last time.

The older man was wearing a Henley again, dark blue this time. It made his skin look paler than it already was, and brought to his eyes a bluer tint. When he had glared at Scott like that, the blues were definitely dancing about, a icy fire to them. He looked really handsome. Like always. Scott wanted to desperately look at him, again.

But Scott could feel the older man’s eyes on him, now, as he slowly made his way back, across the room. He couldn’t help but  _revel_  in it, even if he knew there was nothing behind that look except irritation and possibly distaste. A strange awareness shot through Scott. It started from his toes and slowly worked its way up - calf, knees, thighs, waist, chest and his neck and ears. He felt like he was looking at himself from outside his body, and he knew it was only because Derek was still watching him. He wouldn’t have found the sensation particularly odd, had it stopped there.

The tingling that had worked up to Scott’s neck, prickled, and slowly spread through his whole body. It was ignorable at first, but as he turned to face the brothers, he felt tiny needles were pressing against his skin. Slowly, he felt himself grow numb, like he was very close to falling asleep, and a rush of lethargy washed over him.

He held up the jacket in his hand. His fingers were crushing the cloth in a tight hold, his knuckles white. He could seethat with his eyes. But he couldn’t  _feel_ it.

Worried, Scott tried to take a step. He could walk.

But he couldn’t feel his feet.

A noise started up, then. It sounded like a drum. There was no rhythm to it. Scott looked around, but he couldn’t find the source. Dum-dum-dum, it went, annoying Scott’s ears, as it grew to an erratic chorus. Then, the strange spell of numbness drained away from him, only to be replaced by a fast filling sick feeling. His stomach had hot tar running through it – sticky and acidic, scorching his insides as it churned and twisted. His chest constricted, felt heavier then it should, strrechted tight with a dark emotion. 

Feeling like he was in a trance, Scott looked up and there - Derek had his face titled to the ground a little, electric blue eyes boring into Scott’s from under thick, eyebrows with a look of undisguised  _fury_.

Scott realised he was feeling furious, too.

But he wasn’t feeling his own anger.

No.

It was all _Derek’s._

As his own senses caught up to him, panic spread through him fast. What was going on? He wondered if someone had drugged his orange juice. But he knew, even drugs couldn’t explain what he was feeling. And telepathy wasn’t real. Even Stiles knew that.

But insane as it might sound, Scott knew he was feeling, what Derek was feeling. Hot, red anger, and it was eating Scott’s insides alive. Scott jerked a fist to his chest, trying to assuage the tightness. It wasn’t exactly painful, but it was not a pleasure, either. 

Derek, who was five feet from him, started in surprise, his green eyes that were more blue now, widening perceptibly.

Magically, everything stopped. Scott felt a whiplash when all he could feel was his own trepidation, now. He felt lighter and, he found that he was aware of his limbs again.

Derek was suddenly busy, looking at every object in the room, except Scott. 

Isaac had worry etched on his face, his mouth drawn in a tight line. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut short. 

“Do you have a ride?” said Derek, his voice gruff. He didn’t look at Scott, though.

“Huh?” said Scott, not expecting the older man to speak up.

Derek turned to look at him, and his was face blank. Isaac sent his brother an annoyed look.

Scott felt emotionally drained. He just wasn’t up to anymore of whatever was going on. He needed to talk to Stiles first thing tomorrow, and confirm if he was indeed going insane. Not only was he hearing things - which he noted unpleasantly he could still hear, those stupid beats. Where was it coming from, anyway? - but he was also  _feeling_ things. More specifically, Derek’s feelings. And they weren’t good ones, either. It felt like Derek hated his guts.

“I guess I will get a cab,” said Scott, noting the blank green of Derek’s eyes. There was no trace of blue in them. Had Scott imagined the color up, along with everything else?

He turned to Isaac and smiled a little warily, remembering what the boy had tried to pull. He wasn’t sure if Isaac was actually interested in him, or if he had been pulling his leg. He wouldn’t put that past Isaac.He would have to ask him some other time. When he wasn’t busy trying to figure why Derek hated him, or why he  _knew_ Derek hated him.

This evening had certainly not turned out how he had expected it to. Scott wasn’t sure if he wanted to let everything that had occured sink in just yet. 

“I’ll see you then,” said Scott, giving a short wave to the blond.

Isaac rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, “Don’t be a prat. I’ll drop you.”

Derek’s hand quickly came to Isaac’s shoulder, and stopped him from stepping any closer to Scott. The hold he had on his brother looked like it hurt, but if Isaac felt it, he didn’t show it.

Derek still had his mask in place, but when Scott felt an arrow of dark fire shoot through his stomach, towards his chest, he knew what went on behind that stiff mask. At least, this time, the feelings didn’t linger.

“It’s three in the morning,” said Derek, his voice a little authoritative, “I’ll will drop him.”

“But you just got back,” said Isaac, raising one of his eyebrows, coyly.

“Isaac,” said Derek, warningly, “get some sleep.”

“Oh, how caring of you, brother,” said Isaac, sarcasm dripping in his voice.

Derek raised a single brow and gave his brother a long, withering look.

Without looking at Scott, Isaac turned and left, kicking a furniture or two, as he made his way up the stairs.

When it was just the two of them in the room, the drumming noise still filled the room, and it was all Scott could hear. It was racing, now. Unchecked and loud.

Without further cermony, Derek left through the door. 

Scott could only follow, wondering all the while, when would be the right time to check into Eichen House.

And, why, oh why did he have to fall for Derek of all people?

_

A/N: I realise feeling someone else’s feelings is called ‘empathy’ and not ‘telepathy’. But this is Scott. He confused ‘beastiary’ with you know what. :) So it’s all good. 

Tell me what ya think?

 


	5. Chapter 5

Scott had been on the Camaro once before. Isaac had ‘borrowed’ it from his brother for a weekend trip, when Stiles’ jeep was out for service. He remembered rolling in the backseat with Stiles, trying to steal his marshmallows, popping cans and spilling more than a little on the car mat, kicking up his legs on the front seat and yelling at Isaac’s shitty driving. 

It was understandably a different kind of experience Scott was facing that night. 

Derek was silent, and his entire attention seemed to be on the road. His jaw was jutting forward a little, his scowl less severe, almost an adamant pout. Streaks of moonlight and the now and then passing lampposts, made shadows dance on his face, gave him a haunted, yet an undeniably alluring look. His shoulders were relaxed and his hands held the steering wheel, in a loose grip. He didn’t even twitch. Even with Scott staring at him. 

It must come from years of practice, though Scott. To be so  _nonchalant_ about everything. Or at least, pretend to be. By now, Scott had a keen suspicion for where the beats he was hearing were coming from, and they told him all too well, how calm the older man was  _not_  feeling. 

He still questioned his own sanity, of course, but for now it was occupying very little portion of his mind. Instead he tried to do something that could potentially give him a headache and a leave a bad aftertaste in his mouth. Afterall, knowing who the cause of his strange acid trip had been he needn’t exactly need much motivation, did he?

So he tapped on it: the electricity which was alive around him. All he had to do was become ‘aware’ of Derek, really, feel his presence beside him, and pull the invisible threads that connected them, and then, he could  _sense_  it. It wasn’t as overwhelming as the first time. It felt like a rivulet compared to the onslaught of a flood he had previously experienced. Scott wasn’t sure if that was because Derek was guarding himself, now, or if Scott was just a really good Neo. 

Derek wasn’t angry, now. Nor was there any sign of animosity or irritation. It had been replaced by a glum mood. But that was only a veil to distract something that was lying just beneath it. Scott felt triumphant as he prodded the sheen of false emotions and dug deeper. There was a fast current of excitement and nerves, with a rush of anguish, mixed with little pools of worry?  

The revelations made Scott wish he could have bagged mind-reading, instead of this useless ‘power’ he got. What good was it to know what Derek felt, if he could not know why he felt that way? He would have given anything to know what was going on in Derek’s mind right then. Of whom he was thinking. His brother? But what about the excitement? 

As Scott shifted in his seat, fully turning towards Derek, the rhythm of the beats he heard grew faster. The excitement heightened and the worry was becoming mixed with fear.

That stopped Scott short. Fear?  

(Again, Scott wished he were Edward Cullen.)

Scott turned away from Derek and lightly hit his head against his seat. The man had yet to show any outward sign that Scott existed. Scott wondered if he should let Derek know that his facade wasn’t working. That he knew Derek wasn’t the cool, composed, i-dont-give-a-shit-about-anything guy he pretended to be. That his stupid, smug act was lost on Scott, now. That he was as open about his feelings, as a three year old girl. Well, at least, as far as Scott was concerned. 

The trail of thought led him to remember Derek’s earlier emotions. The first ones that had assaulted Scott. 

"Derek?" said Scott. 

Derek’s eyes were fixed on road. Dutiful driver. They would reach his place in another ten minutes. 

"What?" grunted Derek. 

"Do you hate me?" 

There was two solid seconds for when the heart beat stopped, completely. 

Scott’s eyes shot to Derek’s. He was looking at him now, carefully veiled green eyes, widened a little in surprise. 

"What?" said Derek with a scowl and his attention back on the road. 

"You heard me," said Scott, crossing his arms and looking ahead, too. 

"Why would hate you?" said Derek.

All Scott felt was a swarm surprise and little swirls of confusion. Nothing that remotely resembled deception or hidden anger. Or any negative emotion, in fact. 

Then Scott felt a rush of euphoria pass through him, and no it wasn’t Derek’s. It was his own, because, thank god, Derek didn’t hate him. He wanted to pump his fist against the roof, really, or give the seemingly grumpy man a hug. 

He had been right in thinking Derek wasn’t comfortable with the idea of him dating his brother, then. A brother complex? He knew of Isaac’s childhood and his time in the foster system and about the adoption. He knew there was something even more dark there in the past that Isaac never talked about. It could explain Derek’s reaction, certainly. Thank heavens, Scott wasn’t actually dating Isaac. 

With that, Scott felt a weight lift from his shoulder, and he found himself breathe easy. If Derek had seen the sudden, dopey smile on his face, Scott was sure he would have scowled some more. 

"Why did you ask something like that?" said Derek, sounding and  _feeling_  a little irritated. 

Scott grinned. 

"Oh, nothing," said Scott, feeling cheeky all of a sudden, "Just that you are possibly the grumpiest person I know and it always becomes worse when you are near me."

Derek gave him a scathing look. 

"See what I mean?" said Scott, grinning ear to ear.

Because seriously, Derek was all harsh and coarse only on the outside. Scott could feel his a strange light feeling glowing about Derek, and he knew there was only one right name for it - fondness. 

With shock, Scott realized that Derek was aiming that feeling at him. Not a memory or thought of someone else - but at Scott. He didn’t even understand what that meant. He couldn’t possibly ask Derek. He could careless about the reasons and motives behind that one particular emotion.

He felt his toes curl inside his shoes, and heat pooled his stomach. His lips that had been stretched in grin, slackened, and he abruptly looked away. A small fire lit up in either of his cheeks and he knew it was distinctly visible. 

Derek’s eyes had already gone back to the road, though. So he couldn’t have noticed. Scott could only be thankful to whatever powers that might be, that it wasn’t  _his_ emotions that was on air.  _  
_

Then, too soon, they rolled into Scott’s street, and Derek stopped the car in front of his porch.

Feeling like he was walking on some other person’s legs, Scott got out and shut the door behind him. Stuffing his hands into his jacket’s pocket, he bent against the open window and looked at Derek. 

It was a blank mask with an arched eyebrow that greeted him. It seemed to say ‘what are you doing, still standing there, i gotta head back home you know, its three thirty and I seriously need some sleep’. 

Scott laughed at that thought, and Derek’s eyebrows went higher. 

Scott felt like he was pulling a warm blanket of pure fondness over himself. 

"I will see you, then," he said, a coy smile on his face. 

"Whatever," replied Derek, with his usual grump.

He drove away, pulling the blanket that covered Scott along with him. 

Long after the older man had disappeared from the block, Scott gave a whoop, and added a little victory dance to go with it, right there on his porch, before pulling out his phone to call Stiles, the ungodly time of the day be damned.

__


	6. Chapter 6

The moment consciousness greeted Scott, he became aware of the giant, thorny centipede moving inside his head.

Well, that is how he comprehended the unbearable pain with his half awake mind.

It wasn’t exactly daylight. But the sky outside was lightening up. Scott wasn’t an early riser. Evidently, it was the pain that had woken him up.

He cursed as soon as he could use his mouth, but hardly heard his voice over the throbbing mass in his head. He slipped out of bed, half dazed, pushed the door to the bathroom open and tumbled inside. He somehow managed not to fall face first into his bathtub. Instead, he fell on his ass, pulling the faucet to his shower head as he went down.

He cringed and jerked, barely aware of the water hitting his back. The monster in his head took over.

He hadn’t had any alcohol, last night. No drugs. Not that he knew of any. But this couldn’t be a simple hangover.

He rocked, his hands clutching his bare knees, knuckles white, nails digging in. It didn’t help.   
Steam rose from his body, even though the shower was set to extreme cold.

He suddenly became aware of how hot he felt. He itched all over. A thousand bugs were crawling, stinging and  _biting_! - oh, god what sort of hangover was this.

Scott let out a howl of despair, his voice throaty and not his own.   
Blissful unconsciousness greeted him.

*

When he came to, he was on his bed.

Stiles was hovering over his face.

"Stiles, get off my face," said Scott. He flinched when he noticed his voice - barely any sound came out of his mouth. He must have screamed real loud.

Well, at least his head was okay now. Nothing, except a low, steady buzz that told him he had come out of a steamy bath.

Stiles lounged about the bed, but kept quiet otherwise.

He got of his bed and pulled on his tracks. He looked at his clock. It was eight. Mom would be back in another half an hour. He better get started on his weird story. It was going to take a lot of explanation.

Stiles was being unusually quiet. This thought hadn’t properly passed Scott’s mind when, he was jerked violently, and made to face Stiles.

"Stiles! Don’t use your -"

Stiles was wildly gesticulating and speaking urgently in front of Scott, standing not even a feet away. There was nothing off about this.

The fact that no sound seemed to be coming out of Stiles mouth, was. Even as he opened his mouth real wide, the way he usually did when he spoke - there came nothing but air from it. In fact, Scott couldn’t here any chirping from outside his window, no rustling noise of the blinds, no tick-tock from his wall clock.

"I think I need to sit down," said Scott, finally realizing he didn’t actually hear his own words, either. "Or I might, you know, faint again."

"Yeah", formed Stiles’ mouth, and he nodded his head, violently.

*

'Hear anything, yet?' texted Stiles, sitting in his study chair, across from him.

"No,"  said Scott.

He had finished his story from last night, but Stiles wasn’t entirely convinced that it would have been a drug. Scott was though. When a small voice in his head kept telling him otherwise, he chose to call it, ‘Mr. Wishful-Thinking’ and asked him to shut up.

'Scott, its not a drug.'

Scott glanced at his phone, and looked back up.

"Why not?"

Stiles’ fingers flew a while over his keypad as he composed a reply.

'Because for a hallucinogen, it was too specific! It was only Derek, why not Isaac? Why not me? You were far too much in control for it to be a drug, and now you are fully aware of what happened, in very specific details, might I add, of every second of your so called acid trip.'

"But-"

'Scott, drugs are out. It can be only one thing.'

Scott stilled and looked up, rising his brows. His phone beeped again.

'You are loosing your marbles.'

Scott reached for his pillow and threw it at Stiles. Hard.

"Don’t be jealous that you didn’t get my awesome powers," said Scott, scathingly.

'No thank you. I want nothing to do with anything that has something to do with Derek. Even if you seem to think they are awesome powers. Its actually not, really.'

Scott threw another pillow at Stiles.

*

"Can you hear meeee nowwww?"

"Ohmygod, Stiles! I told you already. I  _can_. You don’t need to yell from three feet!”

"You didn’t mind it a few minutes back."

Stiles looked at notepad he was holding and crossed off something. “So now that your ears taken care of, which I’m not sure you were not bluffing about by the way, we only have one, Isaac’s sudden interest in Scott, two, Scott is an empath (not a telepath, Scotty)and three, Derek likes Scott, and is a pedophile on top of being generally evil.”

Scott ignored the jibe and rolled on to his stomach, and propping himself up on his elbows.

"You forgot his heart beats. I could hears his hearts beats."

They had been at it for an hour, trying to figure out what had gone down last night, apart from Scott’s better senses that is. When his Mom had popped her head in and found him and Stiles hunched over the notepad, both of them scribbling on it at the same time, she had left with a shake of her head and a tired smile on her face.

Scott could hear her snoring down the hall, since the last three minutes. This was a good thing.

"Yeah, yeah, that gets covered somewhere between number two and three." Stiles tapped his pencil against his check and gave Scott a thoughtful look. "I just don’t understand how any of this makes sense."

"I know."

“I mean, of the two of us, I’m the better looking one, obviously. Why would both the Hale brothers go for you? It just doesn’t make sense, you know?”

“ _Stiles_ ,” said Scott, voice coming out in a whine.

“Okay, okay, what I really wanted to say is, ‘why now?’ Why not six months back? Hell, why not the day you were born? Wasn’t Derek invited to your third birthday celebration? He face was practically just his two eyebrows back then. Creepy kid grew up into creepy man. Why do you like him again?”

Scott chose to ignore his complaints yet again, and thought about what his friend had said before that. Yes, Scott had known Derek almost all his life. He hadn’t been ‘aware’ of Derek, nor had he had any ‘feelings’ for the man then. All those started only after he came back from New York. And that was two years back. In the two years, Scott had, had no magic happen. Nor had Derek shown any interest in him. Not even a little. 

"And, Isaac? He’s seen you practically naked in the showers. And  _me_ _,_ oh my god! Scott do you think he would have checked me out? Should I ask him?”

Again, Stiles was right. Isaac was almost as close to him now, as Stiles was. Scott  _knew_ Isaac _._  There had been no clues from him of hidden feelings. And now suddenly. 

"I bet he did it to irritate his brother," piped Stiles, as if reading Scott’s thoughts. He probably did, too. If Scott could read Derek’s feelings, then Stiles could read his thoughts. It was a very plausible thing. 

"Yes," said Scott, "But why?"

"The better question is, how could he be sure it would irritate his brother? I can’t imagine Derek fessing to his brother he has crush -"

"He doesn’t have a  _crush_!” 

"-on his friend. I can’t imagine him talking about feelings of any sort for that matter. So how did Isaac know?"

Stiles put down his pencil, and slammed down the notepad on the desk. He stood up abruptly and started pacing the room. Scott had been expecting him to do that for at least fifteen minutes now.

"Scott, we need a P.O.A."

"A P.O.A? Poa? Pua?"

"Plan of action," said Stiles, "We have a couple of hypothesis. We need to work on the experiments now."

Scott sat back on his legs, and leaned forward in confusion. Stiles was pacing too fast in the small room. 

"Like what?"

Stiles stopped abruptly and turned to Scott and gave him a smile that suggested he was planning very scary things.

"Well, first-off" said Stiles, his impish smile still place, "We are going to get Derek jealous."

 


	7. Chapter 7

“You coming up?”

Scott leaned his bike on its kickstand, and turned off the ignition. He removed his helmet and ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. He bit his lips, glancing at his friend nervously.

Did he want to go upstairs? Not really. Stiles had a plan. They had to stick to a plan.

 _Variety in variables,_ Stiles had said. Scott hadn’t been sure what that meant.  _We can’t use Isaac,_ Stiles had explained. Scott wasn’t sure what that meant either. Stiles had glared at him for that and told him to just stay away from Isaac for a couple of days. 

So no, he didn’t think going upstairs was going to be a good idea.

Isaac who had been waiting for a reply, rolled his eyes at him.

“Oh, come on, Scott,” said Isaac, a smirk forming in his lips as he sauntered closer to Scott, his helmet still clutched in hand. “I’m not gonna  _eat_  you.”

Scott’s eyes widened at the suggestive tone. He wanted to move away from the blond, but he had his motorcycle between his legs, and if he moved, it would topple them both.

“Not most of you, anyway,” drawled the blond, his eyes shining with mischief.

“Isaac,” sputtered Scott, turning red on his face. He pushed his helmet against Isaac’s chest, wanting some goddamned space. “I told you to quit that!”

Scott  _had_  told him to quit – in fact, several times that day. Although, the more Isaac put the ‘moves’ on Scott, the more sure he became that there was nothing serious underneath the teasing. But it still didn’t make it any less uncomfortable. He was going to have to come outright and tell Isaac that he just wasn’t interested in him that way. He had wanted to do that the first thing in the morning, actually. Clear the air, so to speak. . But then –

“Or would you rather have my brother doing that to you?”

Yeah. This kind of shit came out of his mouth and Scott would get flustered and forget all about having a heart to heart with the cheeky blond.

“You know what? I’m  _not_ coming upstairs,” said Scott, shoving his helmet back on his head and getting his motorcycle started.

Isaac promptly turned it back off, and lifted the key from ignition. Without, further ado, Isaac sauntered into the building, only to look back at Scott and hooking his forefinger, suggestively.

“Isaac! I don’t wanna go upstairs!,” Scott yelled after him. But when it seemed like his keys weren’t going to be returned anytime soon, he pulled out his phone to text Stiles and let him know that there was going to be a small dent in the plan.  

*

When he reached Derek’s door, it was open and there was nobody in the living room.

Scott hesitated as he walked in. The memories from the other night were too fresh. He could still feel the ghost of the pain he had felt that day, if he really wanted to. He felt his cheeks warm as he sat on the couch, remembering Derek standing only a few feet from there, looking at him with those burning eyes. He wondered where he was, and wondered if he could go upstairs and get a small peek at him.

Scott was disturbed from his musings, when he heard something being shut loudly. It sounded like the refrigerator, and it was definitely coming from the pantry. It must have been Isaac.

Because Scott didn’t hear any heart beats. Nor did he feel anything foreign. 

Derek wasn’t home.

Scott felt his shoulders slump on its own accord.  He should have just stuck to his plan and headed back home. At least, Stiles would have kept him entertained and hopeful. Coming to Derek’s loft and finding him gone reminded Scott all too well that the elder man possibly had an entire life, of which Scott had no part. Scott didn’t even know the basic things about Derek. Like what he did for a living or what did he do in his free time or what was he passionate about? Did he have a girlfriend? Or boyfriend? Did he have friends he hung out with? Did he go out to watch movies? What did he watch? Avengers? Life of Pi? Did he like to bake? Did he play any instrument? Did he like _Mexican_? 

It was a shame really and a little silly when he thought about it. He wasn’t sure why he had a crush on Derek when he didn’t even know little things like that about him. The logical part of his mind said it was all hormones. He  _had_ been convincing himself it was all hormones, for the better part of the year. He had been saying that since Allison. But, now, he wasn’t sure. Crushes didn’t last for years. Not unless there was something wrong with his head.

Scott shook his head. He had gone down that thought-lane a million times before. No use brooding.

He threw his backpack on the couch, and stood up. Isaac was taking too long in the kitchen, and he was a little thirsty. May be, there was some leftover cream soda from yesterday.

“Hey, can I get something to drink?,” said Scott, still half buried in his own thoughts as he walked into the kitchen. He didn’t wait for a reply as he pulled the refrigerator open and leaned down to hunt for something. Ah, there it was! Two cans of his favorite –

“Why bother asking if you are gonna invade my kitchen anyway?”  

Scott jerked in surprise and ergo, hit his forehead against the refrigerator. 

“Ow,” said Scott, but he didn’t mind the pain.

It wasn’t Isaac in the kitchen. It was Derek.

Scott turned to look at the very man – in a loose pant and a dirty tee, one of his hand wrapped around something metallic and shiny. There was a taunting expression on his face and his eyebrows were typically raised.

Scott couldn’t hear anything other than what he should be normally hearing. Nor did he feel anything supernatural at works. Scott gaped at him stupidly, blinking. He wasn’t sure if he was okay with normalcy. He felt like he had lost the most important weapon from his armory. 

Derek raised the shiny metal in his hand – a wrench, Scott saw now, and pointed it at the open refrigerator. “Are you gonna close it or are you gonna buy me fresh groceries to replace the ones you are spoiling now?”

Scott shook his head and closed the refrigerator behind him. He forgot all about his drink.

“Wh-what are you doing?” said Scott.

Derek didn’t reply. Instead he turned his back to Scott, got down on his knees and ducking his head below the open space below the sink. There went wrench.

Scott frowned. Derek was a plumber? Somehow he didn’t think Derek was a maintenance guy. Not that it made him any less attractive. But somehow Scott didn’t think the Hales could afford a loft downtown with a plumber’s salary.

“You are a plumber?”

It was Derek’s turn to hit his head. The underside of the sink, too. It couldn’t have been pleasant.

“What. The. Fuck?” Derek retracted himself from his mini-dungeon, and gave Scott an accusing glare.

Scott flushed red. He had never heard Derek swear before. It sent a thrill down his spine and started his brain on certain images that he was surely better off without at the moment. He quelled his thoughts, and gave Derek the most innocent look he could manage.

“What?” said Scott, when Derek continued to glare him.

“I’m fixing a pipe. In  _my_  house. Would that make me a plumber?”

Scott could really use some help from his now latent supernatural side. He wasn’t sure if that was a trick question or not. But no such luck. All he could feel was his own confusion and, hidden beneath it, his hormonal desire to jump the disheveled man’s bones. 

When it didn’t seem like Scott was going to reply, Derek rolled his eyes and stood up. He put the wrench on the counter and closed the small door that covered the piping.

“I was trying to fix a leak, Scott,” said Derek, washing his hands and drying them off. “I looked it up on Google. Doesn’t make me much of a plumber does it?”

Wow, Scott thought, petrified a little. Derek was talking to him. Like an actual conversation that didn’t involve a grunt or a scowl or a nod. Actual words and all. This was better than being privy to Derek’s feelings. Way better.

“Um, no, I guess,” said Scott, laughing a little. “I was just thinking earlier what you did for a living and when I saw you using the wrench – well…” He laughed, understanding how stupid that sounded out loud.

Derek looked him, his eyebrows knitting together – not really frowning, more like he couldn’t believe Scott was such a dork – and then, suddenly there was a small smile on his face.

Scott’s heart gave a significant lurch.

 _He’s beautiful_.

A small voice in Scott’s head said that. He couldn’t agree with it more. Derek’s eyes were lit up when he smiled, and it made him look younger and far more innocent than he was. He was definitely beautiful. But more importantly, he looked approachable. Scott felt that he could open his mouth and tell Derek about his day, what he had for lunch and how annoying Stiles was sometimes and how much he wished Derek would smile more like that – and Scott felt he could get away with it. That Derek wouldn’t mind him talking like that. That he could say anything, and Derek wouldn’t mind.

A loud crash came resounding from the living room and the moment shattered.

The smile was gone and Derek’s shoulders stiffened.

Realizing that the happy bubble that had surrounded them had disappeared, Scott tried the trick he had tried the other night. He felt like he was cheating, trying to spy on Derek on like that. But what Derek didn’t know couldn’t hurt him right?  Right? He wasn’t reading his thoughts or anything - just gauging his emotions. Right.

He felt for it, sending out tendrils of awareness towards were Derek stood, glaring at the kitchen door. There were hurried footsteps towards them, but Scott had to concentrate on Derek. Derek’s feelings. His feelings – there! Scott felt something – a warm breeze against his awareness – then nothing.

Scott couldn’t help but frown. May be, he wasn’t concentrating enough. He tried it again, but –

Isaac came bounding into the kitchen.

_What does this little prick want now?_

Scott got dragged into a sudden bear hug that he didn’t understand.

_Why the fuck is he doing that? That little shit, he knows it pisses me off!_

“Scott, I’m sorry I have been coming on to you like that,” said Isaac, and pulled back. The blond waved his Samsung 5 at him and flashed him a grin.

 _He is?_   _What’s going on? What’s he up to now?_

“You could have just told me, you know?” said Isaac.

Scott was more confused than ever. He held Isaac away from himself and glanced at the other man in the room. Derek looked confused, too. He was also scowling at his brother, scrutinizing him with an suspicious glare.

“Your status on FB,” said the blond, scrolling his phone and showing it Scott.

_What status? What’s he talking about? I haven’t checked FB since the weekend! The fuck do I have to log on to some stupid social network to –_

“What status?” said Scott, mimicking the voice in his head. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure it was his voice, in his head. For one, he didn’t cuss so much. For two, he had checked FB roughly ten minutes back, after he had texted Stiles.

Scott had a suspicion whom that voice belonged to.

“You relationship status!” said Isaac, in a mock angry voice, “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I get all your updates, you know. It’s not like I’d miss something so important.”

_Fuck._

That was definitely not Scott. But it could as well have been. Because Isaac was now showing him his own profile, the little pink heart that proclaimed to the entire world that Scott was happily, in relationship. Nine minutes ago, and a ‘Isaac Lahey and 28 people like this’.

_Why am I not surprised? So, typical! Why would it be any different this time! Stupid hormonal teenagers! He’s sixteen and he thinks he’s in fucking love. Every. Fucking. Time. Who’s it this time? Probably that blond chick. Couldn’t even last six months without a girlfriend – does he have to run from one hormonal hag to another – what, does he need reassurances of his manliness all the time? Not feeling manly enough without fuc –_

And Scott could take it no longer.

“Derek!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more frequent updates, follow me on tumblr - 'thestuffofawesome'.


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